The Rat King
by Karen
Summary: At last the storys of everyone involved in the tale of "The Prince And The Raven" can have a happy ending, but what about Autors story?
1. Chapter 1

The Rat King

A fan fiction for _"Princess Tutu"_

By Karen

Chapter 1

_Once upon a time there was a little town called Hamelin that had a terrible infestation of enormous rats. Try as they might, they could not be rid of them. Then one day a piper dressed in colorful clothes came to town and offered to help solve the problem with the rats for a fee. The townspeople agreed and the piper played his music. So entranced were the rats that they followed him out of the town and into the Weser river where they all drowned. However, the ungrateful townspeople went back on their word to pay the piper. Angered, the piper dressed in green, like a hunter, and played again on Saint John And Pauls Day; this time it was the citizens own children- at least one hundred and thirty boys and girls- who followed him out of the town and far away, never to be seen or heard from again._

* * *

"Mom! Mom!" called the excited little boy from the living room where the family piano was placed, "I did it! I finally did it!"

His mother rinsed off her hands from where she had been cleaning and putting away the breakfast dishes and went to the living room to see her excited eight year old son seated proudly at the piano bench.

"I did it!" he proclaimed again. "I finally played Beethoven's ninth symphony perfectly!"

His mother smiled lovingly as she dried her hands on her apron. With that small nose, large eyes and oversize glasses, Autor Spielmann looked just like an adorable wise little owl.

"That's wonderful, dear. You've been practicing and practicing that peice for almost over a week now. I've practically had to drag you away from that piano by your ear to get you to come to the table or go to bed."

Autor nodded eagerly. "I know, but now it's finally all worth it because I can play another peice with no mistakes! Do you want to hear?"

His mother sat beside him on the piano bench. "Of course, please play for me, darling." How like her stubborn son to keep going at it, and never want to stop until he had mastered it, no matter how long it took. Sometimes Autor had even fallen asleep on the piano keys and she had had to carry him upstairs for bed.

The boy placed his small hands on the black and white keys and immediatly the piano almost seemed to come alive with music as he sang the original lyrics by Schiller and Beethoven.

_Freude, schöner Götterfunken_

_Tochter aus Elysium, _

_Wir betreten feuertrunken,_

_Himmlische, dein Heiligtum! _

Delighted, his mother joined in and the two of them sang the next part together.

_Deine Zauber binden wieder _

_Was die Mode streng geteilt; _

_Alle Menschen werden Brüder, _

_Wo dein sanfter Flügel weilt._

Autor finished the song and bowed graciously like a professional conductor who had just completed a worldwide concert tour. His mother clapped wholeheartedly, amused at such formality from an eight year old and proud of her son for having never given up on mastering this piece

"That was wonderful, sweetheart. You are definitely the son of an Austrian music teacher, no doubt about it. Maybe you'll be the next Mozart or Beethoven." Everyone eventually found their own way of expressing themselves and Autors' it seemed would be through music, even at this early age.

The little boy dangled his small legs over the edge of the piano bench.

"Dad liked the piano too, didn't he?" he asked. His father had died shortly before he was born so he had never known him, nor been able to miss him, but he never tired of hearing about what a great music teacher his father was, or how his mother had helped their elderly late neighbor, Mister Hans Drosselmeyer, find him when he had gotten lost in the woods near town as a boy.

His mother nodded. "Yes he did, you take after him in that way. But you're a bookworm, just like me. That's how you got your name."

Autor made a face. "Bookworm" He never liked that term, as if being a good reader and enjoying reading were something to be made fun of. She chuckled and tousled his hair affectionately

"You never show me that book place where you work everyday," he stated as he smoothed back his hair with childish indignance.

At this, her face clouded slightly. This boy was far to curious for his own good.

"No, and that's because it's not the right kind of place for children, Autor. Maybe one day when you're older."

Her son crossed his arms. "I'm old enough. I'm almost nine, and everyone knows I have the top marks at school!"

"Yes, you do," she agreed, relieved at having an excuse to change the subject from her work. "And speaking of school, it's time you were on your way or you'll be late."

"Oh, alright" And with that Autor hopped off of the piano bench and grabbed his leather schoolbag, already packed with his books, papers and lunch.

"Do you want me to walk with you?" his mother offered with concern. The crow attacks on the town last year still had her worried. Besides, she knew some children this age could be quite nasty to others, especially someone as introverted as her son was. Autor had come home with broken glasses, a black eye and a bloody nose on more then one occasion.

"Oh, no thanks. I'll be fine," he assured her as he made his way out the door. He had become used to other students either picking on him or ignoring him ever since kindergarten and had learned that a sharp toung and cutting words were more often the best weapon of defence.

She watched him from the opened front doorway of their large house as he hurried down the street. In the distance the towns large clock could be heard, chiming up to nine o clock AM.

"Come straight back after school," she called after him with a wave.

He turned and waved back at her. "I will!" he promised. "See you later!"

Soon her son was down the street, had turned a corner and was out of sight.

Once she was certain everything was clear, she turned and faced towards the shadows from the nearby trees.

"You know, you don't need to hide there, Father. Please come in."

At this, a short, older man, his long hair hanging from the hood of a dark cloak emerged from the shadows and approached the walkway, an intense gleam in his eyes.

"Has he done any writing?" He wasted no time in directly coming to the point.

His daughter sighed. "You haven't come to see me here ever since I got engaged. You barely speak a word to me at the bookstore now, and all you care about is weather my son has done any writing?"

"Just answer me, daughter" came the cold reply.

"Fine then. No, he hasn't done any writing. None that's ever come to life anyway, if that's all your worried about."

"It is."

She shook her head at her fathers obsessive one-track-mindedness. It was hard to believe that once she had been proud to be part of a family that had such an important secret purpose in Goldcrown Town.

"You're wasting your time tracking down Drosselmeyer's descendants. The old man has been dead for years. We aren't even sure if our side of the family has any connections to him. Why not just let it be already?"

"Preventing another dangerous story spinner from wreaking havoc like what happened with those crows last year is _not _a waste of time."

"And what will you do if there _are_ descendants of Drosselmeyer in this town? Chop off all of their hands? Even your own family's? That is absolute madness, Father!"

The old man nodded his greying head.

"Nothing so drastic as that... at least not for now. But we will cross that bridge when we get to it. In the meantime, keep that boy out of trouble. There may be danger, just as you have been suspecting."

"Father... you don't mean?..." her voice trailed off with quiet dread.

Her father took a few steps forward, already confirming her worries.

"Yes," he answered. "We have done some investigating and it seems your hypothesis may be correct, Daughter; Not only is this town still being controlled by Drosselmeyer's storys, but others may have escaped his works and are biding their time until their storys can start again."

* * *

School had gone by as usual that day. Praise from the teachers, snickers and crude remarks from the boys and giggles and pointing from the girls. Nothing completely out of the ordinary. And at the end of the day Autor found himself walking home on his own, absorbed in one of his books, as usual; _"The Memoirs Of Sherlock Holmes"_ by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. He had just gotten to the part in _"The Final Problem" _where Holmes and Watsons leisurely stroll by Reichenbach Falls is interrupted by a message calling Watson away. The reader, like Holmes, immediately senses this is Moriartys' trap...

"Mytho?" came another childs' loud, anxious voice from nearby. "Mytho, where are you? Did Rue run off with you again?"

Interrupted, Autor looked up from his book in annoyance, reluctantly resisting the urge to tell the newcomer to be quiet as this was the great outdoors and not the towns library.

Another boy with scruffy dark hair was running along the street just ahead, still calling for Mytho. Autor recognized Fakir Ritter from class. That boy was always with Mytho- though the two were several years apart in age- driving everyone away from the white haired boy with the vacant expression if he thought they were getting to close.

Autor had heard that Fakir's mother's family were connected to the Drosselmeyers and had come all the way to Europe from the Middle East hundreds of years ago, which sounded exciting since he himself had never been outside of Germany- or even Goldcrown for that matter. The green eyed boy had never spoken of his late parents though; They had both been killed in the crow attack last year and Fakir now lived with the local blacksmith, Charon.

Even here and now, Autor had thought it was strange for people to be killed by swarms of birds. From what he'd read about crows, ravens and other members of the species they didn't normally attack humans unless their nests were disturbed or threatened, and hardly ever so aggressively. It was like something out of Hitchcock's thriller, _"The Birds"_.

Then he shook his head. Of course real life wasn't like a book or movie. He felt a certain sympathy for Fakir who had neither of his parents now, while he at least still had his mother. The other boy had already lost more then he himself probably ever would.

By the time he arrived home Autor had finished the book. It had been a huge and grievous disappointment when Watson arrived back at the falls to find the final note from Holmes revealing Moriartys' trap and signs of the struggle over the treacherous ledge, but he knew there were more works by Doyle after this, so the heroic detective probably wouldn't stay dead for long.

He trotted up the familiar front walkway and took out his house key to get inside, but found the door was already unlocked. Thinking nothing of it, the boy went ahead inside.

"Mom, I'm home," he called as he put down his schoolbag.

He placed his coat neatly in the closet, but his mother didn't come to greet him in the front hall the way she usually did.

"Mom?" Autor tried again, but received no answer.

Had she gone out somewhere? If she had, she would always leave some kind of message for him. He searched the kitchen for a note, any indication of where she was and when she would be back, but with no success.

As he always did whenever he felt anxious or nervous, Autor made his way to the piano and sat himself down on the bench. Maybe if he practised Beethoven's Ninth Symphony again it would take his mind off of his increasing discomfort. Maybe he was worrying himself over nothing and his mother would be back before he even finished playing the piece

_Freude, schöner Götterfunken_

_Tochter aus Elysium, _

_Wir betreten feuertrunken,_

_Himmlische, dein Heiligtum_

It was supposed to be a happy, uplifting tune, and it was when they had sung it together, but now his small fingers fell heavily upon the keys like lead and his singing voice was quiet, just above a whisper... For some reason, this good sized but comfortable and familiar home was beginning to feel like a large, cold, empty tomb...

_Deine Zauber binden wieder_

_Was die Mode streng geteilt..._

Suddenly, he came to an abrupt halt when he heard a scurrying movement behind him. He spun around and gave a startled cry upon seeing the enormous red eyed rat glaring at him, no more then three or four feet away.

Though Autor was merely allergic to birds feathers, he had always been frightened of mice and rats, especially after reading about what had caused the Black Death. Quickly he grabbed the music book off the piano and threw it fiercely at the verminous intruder.

"Get out!" he yelled, shaking, "Get out of here!"

The rat jumped, startled, but strangely it didn't run. Instead it gave him a look of what might have been pure disgust and disdain. The boy hopped off of the piano bench and grabbed the old broom from nearby, waving it threateningly.

"I said get out of here!" he shouted running at the rat, who immediately took off. The boy chased it away from the piano, down the short hallway and towards the back door... Only he stopped and gasped in shock and horror at what awaited him there.

The first rat was now joined by at least ten other impossibly large red eyed companions! Then it seemed as if they were multiplying right there in front of his eyes. First fifteen, then twenty, until Autor had managed to calculate at least over thirty! Squealing, they advanced towards him menacingly and he knew a broom wouldn't be enough to deal with them all.

Terrified, the boy ran to the front door of the house with the rats scurrying after him, only to find twice the number of vermin blocking his route of escape. There were even rats scampering down the stairs from the top floor in pursuit of him.

Autor clumsily backed away in fear and tripped, landing on the floor beside the piano. By now the number of rats had tripled to over one hundred and they were all moving towards him, their beady red eyes shining brightly with menace and their sharp claws and teeth bared

He could almost swear he heard them hissing in nearly human voices _"Give us your heart! Give us your heart!"_

Trembling and sobbing, the frightened child backed up against the wall and clung to the piano leg as a toddler would cling to their mothers skirts. This whole thing had to be some kind of nightmare. Any moment his mother would wake him up and it would be all over.

_"Give us your heart! Give us your heart!"_

"Mom! Mom, where are you? What's going on?" he cried as the tears fell onto his glasses, clouding his vision. "Help me! Somebody, please help me!"

_"Give us your heart! Give us your heart!" _

The rats had completely surrounded and filled the room now and almost any moment they would set upon the helpless boy who had shut his eyes tight closed to brace himself...

_"Give us your heart! Give us your..."_

Suddenly, Autor heard a slicing sound and a shriek of pain, followed by sounds of violence and even more piercing, inhuman screams.

He opened his eyes to see at least ten or so men in dark cloaks carrying spiked, double-bladed axes and other weapons. They hacked away relentlessly and mercilessly away at the army of rats who amazingly disappeared once killed.

For the next few moments it was chaos. The rats, unwilling to stand still and die, fought back and leapt at their attackers. At first it seemed like there were more then enough to outnumber the dark robed men, but soon the weapons managed to overpower their numbers. Fewer and fewer rats remained until an older man with long, greying hair sliced apart the last remaining vermin that had tried to escape on top of the piano.

Finally, each and every last one of the rats were gone, though the room was in near complete dissary. The picture of Autors parents, as well as the one of his mother and himself, had fallen off the wall, their glass frames shattered. His mothers favourite flower vase had been knocked down and broken. His father's old music book lay chewed and torn on the floor. The piano itself had been hacked so badly that it may be beyond repair.

Slowly, the old man turned and fixed his piercing eyes on the child who was still huddling against the wall by the nearly destroyed piano.

"Did _you_ cause this, boy?" he demanded.

Near traumatized and to overwhelmed to answer, all Autor could do was tremble and shake his head.

The old man approached the child and gruffly drew him to his feet, gripping him firmly by the shoulders.

"Listen carefully, boy, and answer truthfully. Did you or did you not write about those rats attacking?"

What in the world was this man talking about? How could he possibly be able to write about something like this happening to him? Why would he even want to?

"N... No, sir..." Autor murmured, somehow managing to find his voice again.

At this, the other cloaked men turned to each other and whispered to each other in hushed tones.

The old man, whom Autor had guessed must be their leader, raised his hand for silence. Then he looked the boy in the eye.

"I am going to ask you another question. How much do you know about the writer, D D. Drosselmeyer?"

The boy blinked in surprise at the question. His mother had said Mister Hans Drosselmeyer and Mrs Ritter had been related to that writer.

"D D. Drosselmeyer? He wrote that book, _"The Prince And The Raven"_, didn't he?"

"Yes," the old man answered, releasing him. Then he turned back to his comrades "It's just as I thought. This boy is not responsible. He knows nothing and is capable of nothing. We have wasted our time."

The group of cloaked men then nodded to each other and began to leave the very same way they had come in.

"Wait!" Autor stopped the elderly leader before he turned to join the others. "Where's my mom? Have you seen her? What were those rats doing here anyway? Who are you?"

The old man stopped and stared down intimidatingly at the child.

"We are from the bookstore where your mother worked, and I see she that was right; you are far to curious for your own good," he answered.

"But where is she? Have you seen her?" the boy pleaded.

For a moment the old man was silent... then he shook his head sombrely.

"She is gone. She left and she won't be coming back. You will have to learn to take care of yourself now."

Autor suddenly felt sick to his stomach and his young legs nearly gave in upon hearing the old bookmans words. Could his mother have left because of the rats, deciding it wasn't safe here after that and last years crow attack? Why wouldn't she take him with her then?

"But why did mom leave?" he demanded. "Was it because of the crows or the rats? Why won't she come back for me?"

"Silence!" the old head bookman snapped. "I have already told you more then I probably should have. There are things that are alright to know and there are things that are _dangerous_ to know. Remember that, and mind your own business for your own safety."

Autor watched the old man turn to join his comrades as they left the house... Now alone, his small pianist's hands still shaking, he wiped off his tear covered glasses with the edge of his sleeve...

He would do as those mysterious bookmen said and mind his own business _for now_, he thought... but someday, someday he might meet up with them and their leader again and find out just what they were talking about and what was happening... Then maybe, if he had enough knowledge, he might be able to change things here for the better somehow, even if his mother never came back to Goldcrown for him...

He put his glasses back on and the light reflected off the lenses, so anyone looking wouldn't have been able to see his eyes behind them, still rimmed with tears.

He never saw the enormous black rat- even larger then the others had been- who had stayed hidden during the chaos and was still observing him... A pair of beady red eyes glared from each of its seven ugly crowned heads...


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

_"... Once upon a time there was a man who died. The final story he spun was going to be a brilliant tragedy, however the story had an unexpected happy ending, and it was triggered by one duck that the man himself had called into the tale... And there was another man who began writing a story. That story, full of hope, has only just begun. The End."_

Autor looked up from where he had been proof reading Fakirs completed manuscript and adjusted his glasses. It had been over a week since the defeat of the monster raven and the destruction of the writing machine which had been controlling the happenings of this town. At first, it was a bitter disappointment that another had been given the ability to do what he himself had wanted to do ever since he'd learned the truth about Drosselmeyer from the book keepers, but eventually the music student had resigned himself to the role of editor and critic of the latest storyspinners works.

"This is actually very good," he commented with an approving nod. "Much better then I expected in fact. I wouldn't be surprised if Ikuko Itoh and Hal Film Maker accepted it for a new series."

Fakir leaned back against the kitchen chair and crossed his arms. "That's allot, coming from you." Since he had begun writing about everything that had happened to Ahiru Arima and himself, Autor had been a demanding and merciless editor, which had led to numerous bickering, broken pen quills and scrunched up papers on the floor, but he had to admit, with his knowledge and help this story had turned out exactly as he had hoped.

"Though I see you never added the part where you wrote Ahiru back as a human girl and you confessed your feelings for each other"

Fakir exchanged meaningful glances with the freckled, red headed girl seated comfortably next to him at the table, the one who had set _"The Prince And The Raven"_ tale back in motion and given it much needed hope for a happy ending. "No, I did that on purpose," he answered.

"He wanted to leave that for the readers to decide," Ahiru explained. "That way it can end whichever way they'd like to imagine."

Autor put the manuscript down and leaned back into his own chair, one eyebrow raised. "I see, and how about that promise you two made to each other when you danced at the bottom of Drosselmeyers Lake of Despair?"

"You know, I'm starting to regret ever letting you know about that," Fakir muttered.

"Then you shouldn't have included it in the manuscript to begin with," came the sharp, matter of fact reply.

"And _you_ should have given me a better warning about that tree before I almost got lost to it!"

"Warn you? I got third degree electrical burns trying to warn you! And who do you think pulled your girlfriend back so she didn't wind up roast duck?"

Ahiru ran her fingers through her hair with a sigh. "Maybe Fakir was a hypocrite to talk about returning to our true selves and then turn around and ask if I wanted to be a human again," she spoke before yet another heated argument could break out between the writer and his editor, "but... I guess that means I'm a hypocrite too, since I agreed and it was exactly what I wanted."

"Sometimes, who you are isn't exactly who you're meant to be," Fakir added in agreement, now gazing at her warmly.

Autor cleared his throat and then shrugged. True, and with his feather allergy, it was probably better this way.

"Well then, that makes you both hypocrites, so I'd say you're absolutely perfect for each other"

"Really?" Ahiru beamed, wide blue eyes lighting up.

"Yes, the young editor smirked as he rose from his chair. "Bestiality has never been so adorable."

"Hey!" At this, the girl sat up, letting out a habitual "Quack!" of indignance and Fakir had to restrain her by seizing the end of her red braid.

"Ignore him," he hissed. "He just does that to get a rise out of me." Then he added under his breath "Moron."

After a moment, Autor had returned with a tray laden with three cups of tea and a plate of biscuits. He set them on the small table in front of them.

For a few moments the three of them sat in companionable silence as they enjoyed their tea and biscuits Fakir couldn't help but note with amusement that the tea wasn't exactly the type Drosselmeyer was supposed to have enjoyed, and not once since that first time in the recreated study had Autor thrown a pitcher of water over him for a ritual.

"Thanks for coming over to help with editing," Ahiru said, munching on a biscuit. "I'm sorry about what that creepy bookman did to your study."

Autor shrugged. "It's not your fault, and it's nothing that can't be repaired in time."

The teenaged writer looked skeptically over his tea at his editor. "In time? Are you sure this whole editor business isn't just a sign of avoidance?"

Autor put down his own tea in surprise. "Avoidance?"

"You once said you had volumes upon volumes that you wanted to write. What's stopping you now?" Fakir asked.

The young editor shook his head. "You know that's your department as a storyspinner, Fakir, not mine."

"But writing storys shouldn't be just for storyspinners," Ahiru argued. "That's something you've wanted to do for a long time, isn't it?"

For a moment Autor was silent... then he shrugged again, the lamplight reflecting off his glasses and hiding his eyes.

"Yes," he admitted, "but we don't always get what we want; Fakir doesn't get to be a real knight, Tutu won't get to be Siegfried's Princess and_ I_ won't get to be the next Drosselmeyer... though that might not be such a bad thing come to think of it... Anyway, we're supposed to be discussing_ your_ works, Fakir. How are your new ideas coming along?"

Fakir groaned inwardly, knowing already it was pointless to argue with Autor once he'd changed the subject.

"Not so great," he replied, elbow on the table and chin in his hand "but the procrastination course is coming along fabulously. I guess I'm as bad as you that way."

The young editor picked his tea back up and took another sip. "The dreaded writers block. Well, don't worry so much about it. Pretty soon it should breed allot of abject self loathing and then you'll just become a writing machine."

"I don't know," the teenaged writer ran one hand through his dark hair while Ahiru clasped his other hand. "So far, all I've got are terrible ideas." This coming summer he would be finishing the twelvth grade and taking his Abitur exam. He _still_ wasn't sure if writing again and taking it up as a career was the right choice.

"Fakir, what did I tell you about terrible ideas? They're like playground scapegoats; given the right encouragement they can grow up to be geniuses, and_ I_ should know."

"Right." Fakir rolled his eyes and Ahiru had to cover her mouth to stifle a giggle.

"I mean it. You should take one of your so-called 'terrible ideas' and work on it."

Once the tea and biscuits were finished and the plates and dishes put away, Autor checked his watch.

"Five fifty five, and it's getting dark already," he observed. "I'd better be going now. Fakir, if this is the completed manuscript you want sent, I can get it on its way to Japan first thing tomorrow morning before school."

"Sure, that's great," the writer agreed as he placed the manuscript in its envelope and handed it to his editor.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay for dinner, Autor?" Ahiru offered, ignoring the look Fakir shot her. "Charon should be home from the grocers any minute."

"Oh, I don't think so," came the aloof decline. "There's still some things that need to be done at home, so I'm a little busy for dinner at a blacksmiths."

The girl walked him to the door. "Oh, your family must be expecting you home then," she guessed naively. "Come to think of it, we never got to meet them when we were at your house."

At this, Autor seemed to stiffen and his hands gripped the enveloped manuscript more tightly.

"No, and you won't get to meet them either. They've both been gone for a long time."

This revelation came as a shock to Ahiru, and Fakir sat up with a start from the couch looking at Autor as if he had never even seen him before.

"Oh... I... I didn't know that... I'm sorry," the red headed girl whispered.

Again, the light caught Autors glasses as he adjusted them back up.

"Why?" he shrugged. "I've been fairly privileged compared to most. I found out the secret of Goldcrown town all on my own, I was studying Drosselmeyer and his works while you were quacking and swimming around in your little pond and Fakir and Mytho were prancing around after each other in tights. Don't waste your time or mine by being sorry."

"Hey!" Fakir snapped defensively "She was just..."

But the young editor didn't let him finish. "I'll see you two at school tomorrow. Good luck getting into the intermediate class, Ahiru."

And with that he left the house, swiftly and curtly closing the door behind himself in Ahirus face.

Fakir and Ahiru looked at each other and the young man threw up his hands in frustration.

"I swear, sometimes I don't know weather to punch that idiots face in or ask you to do one of your 'dance with me' therapy sessions with him," he sighed.

The girl shook her head with a sad smile. "You know I could only do that when I was Princess Tutu."

"I'm sorry," he began to apologize, "I didn't mean..." He didn't want her to think for one second he preferred her as her former fairytale alter ego.

She put a hand on his shoulder. "I know. I feel the same way. I'm happier then I've ever been now that I can be human with you and the others- even if I had to reintroduce myself to them- but I admit sometimes it would be nice to be able to help people that way again, even if it started as just a way to collect Mythos heart shards at first."

At this he put his arm around her warmly. "You didn't need to be Princess Tutu to change _me_, moron, and I didn't have any heart shards for Mytho."

"Thanks," she blushed, resting head against his shoulder. I still wish there was something we could do though... I mean, at first I thought Autor was just a weird, mean guy... but now... Now that I've seen more of him, I think he looks just as lonely as we all were once..."

"I know what you mean," Fakir agreed as they headed for the table to get it ready for dinner once Charon arrived back home. Hadn't Ahiru thought he himself was a complete jerk in the beginning? Of course he hadn't done much to dissuade that. "It may not exactly show, and God knows I'd never admit it to him, but I'm grateful to Autor."

* * *

Autor sneezed and straightened his glasses with one hand while gripping the precious manuscript with the other. It was dark already, but beautifully clear, and thankfully Charons home was only a few minutes walk from his own.

In spite of brushing off the offer of dinner, and as much as he hated to admit it to himself, he actually enjoyed the time spent with Fakir and Ahiru and took pride in critiquing and editing the former knights works. Even if he himself wasn't chosen for anything particularly groundbreaking, at least it was of _some_ use, _some_ purpose, after the town had been brought back to reality.

The truth was, after eight years of living completely on his own, with the exception of the weekly housekeeper, the idea of seeing a happy family gathered together in a cozy little house around the dinner table made him more uncomfortable then he cared to explain to anyone... It was something vaguely familiar, but distinctly foreign...

_"Are you sure this whole editor business isn't just a sign of avoidance?" _Fakirs questions came back to him. _"You once said you had volumes upon volumes that you wanted to write. What's stopping you now?"_

_"How about the fact that whatever I did wouldn't accomplish nearly as much as what Drosselmeyer and Fakir did?"_ he thought with a scoff. As much as he wrote, it would never affect anything or anyone, and as much as he wanted to write his own music, his own symphonys, so far all he had been able to do was play other peoples great works. Perhaps that was all he was ever really meant to do.

In the distance the towns clock struck six o clock and Autor checked his wrist watch again to make sure the times matched exactly. The housekeeper would have finished and left hours ago, so he could enjoy his own dinner at home alone and in peace.

He then looked up from his watch, startled by a scurrying movement just up ahead...

A large black creature with a long tail emerged from one of the small alleyways along the street and lept into Autors path.

With a shocked, horrified gasp, the boy backed away in terror at the rat who seemed to have emerged from his long forgotten childhood nightmares. He tripped and fell on the cobblestone street, dropping the envelope containing Fakirs manuscript...

As Autor continued to back away, shaking, the rat approached him menacingly, it's beady red eyes glaring and its teeth bared in a snarl. The frightened young musician turned editor looked frantically around for something, _anything_, he could use to throw at the advancing rodent and chase it away, but there was nothing...

It was then that another larger dark figure emerged from one of the nearby houses rooftops. In one almost lightning swift movement a black owl had swooped down upon the rat and seized it in its razor sharp talons. The rodent barely had time to let out a scream before it was killed and carried up to the top branches of a tree to be ripped to shreds.

The owls gimlet golden eyes seemed to be staring down intently at the boy, who stared back at it in shock, breathing heavily and trying to regain some composure before he scrambled to his feet.

Autor put a hand behind his head with sheepish smile. He hadn't been that frightened by vermin in a long time. You'd think after seeing almost the whole town turned into giant crows before his eyes, one single rat would be nothing remarkable.

Wanting to get home before anything else strange had a chance to happen this evening, the young editor dusted himself off and continued to hurry quickly down the street in the direction of his house... He was still so shaken from the encounter- and in such a hurry to get home- that he hadn't realized he'd forgotten Fakirs manuscript back on on the street until to late.

* * *

_From his place in the afterlife, a colourfully dressed old man with enormous feathers in his cap and long white hair chuckled darkly with glee._

_"Yes, another story set in motion! Another chance for a gloriously entertaining tragedy!" he mused, his eyes wild as the clockwork gears spun around him. "I hope I will not be disappointed this time!" _


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Autor grimaced as he made his way to the library. The day had not even started at Goldcrown Academy and already the motley assortment of fellow students from the various divisions were making it difficult; As usual, Ahiru walked with her two friends, Pique and Lilly, who he just knew were whispering and giggling behind his back. Freya, the blonde girl who loved tending the academy's garden, had gotten it into her pretty little head to put flowers outside and _inside_ the library. Malen, a shy, artistic girl with glasses who especially liked to use the ballet division students as her subjects was sketching the most sickeningly lovey dovey couple in school, Lysander and Hermia, kissing when they thought nobody saw them. Strangest of all, Femio, that narcissist, melodramatic fellow was parading about campus with that bull and valet again, ranting about love. No, it was _not_ going to be an easy day, especially if Fakir found out he had accidentally lost that manuscript! He would just have to try his hardest to avoid crossing paths with him until he could find it somehow.

Grateful for the few spare minutes before morning classes started, Autor seated himself down at the table. This morning however he felt much to anxious and angry with himself for losing that manuscript to get involved in study or reading. He had returned to the place along the street where he was sure he had dropped it, but there was no sign of the envelope. What on earth was he going to tell Fakir if he couldn't find it? The former knight had already accused him of being resentful and jealous numerous times, which _was_ true to some degree. He might just accuse him of losing the manuscript on purpose!

The sound of someone quietly humming by the bookshelves nearby distracted him from his brooding.

"Would you please be a little quieter?" he snapped irritably, without bothering to look up.

"Oh, I'm sorry," came a girls halfhearted apology. To his annoyance, her humming continued, though quieter then before.

In a huff, Autor got up from the table and started to make his way out of the library and to the music room. He had almost passed the nearest bookshelf when one of the larger volumes fell from the top of the shelf and collided with his head. The young musician turned editor stumbled forward with a startled gasp and his glasses fell to the floor along with the book.

"Oh no!" came the girls voice again as she climbed down the ladder placed against the shelf. At least he _assumed_ that was what she was doing. Without his glasses, his vision was incredibly blurry. "Now this time I really _am_ sorry! Are you alright?"

"My glasses!" Autor exclaimed, rubbing the back of his head with one hand while fumbling for his glasses on the floor with the other.

The next moment, he felt a pair of hands place his glasses in his grasp.

"Here you go."

Autor adjusted his glasses and found himself staring into an unfamiliar face with striking wide, deep-set yellow eyes and long blueish black hair pulled back with a black ribbon. He noticed that she wore her uniforms skirt somewhat longer then most girls here did.

"You're new here, I take it," he said. "Do you always throw the heaviest books at innocent bystanders and passerbys"

Offended, she crossed her arms.

"No, only snobbish student librarians, and yes I _am_ new here. My name is Odile Roth."

He noticed that she spoke perfect German, but with the faintest hint of an East Slavic accent.

"Odile Roth? How can that possibly be your real name?"

She shrugged. "Why not?" then she bent down to pick up the book that had fallen from the shelf. "Anyway, I suppose I should thank you for helping me find the book I wanted."

Allowing his passion for literature to get the better of him, Autor asked "And which book might that be?"

She handed him the volume. It was a complete and official collection of the written works of Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, the great Russian composer. He had to admit, she had good taste.

"You wouldn't be going into the music division too, would you?" he asked warily.

"And so what if I am?" she replied, taking back the book. "It's a free country." Then she snapped her fingers. "Oh! And I wanted to ask, do you know somebody named Fakir Ritter?"

Now he could tell just how new this Odile Roth was to Goldcrown Academy

"The 'wonderful' senior Fakir whom more then ninety percent of the girls at this academy are in love with, even though he only ever bothers with Ahiru Arima? No, who is he?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You seem a little bitter. Anyway, I believe I found something that belongs to him. It has his name on it."

As she spoke, she drew a familiar object from her schoolbag. Autor's eyes widened. He almost couldn't believe it when he saw it! Fakirs lost manuscript!

Practically shaking with amazement and relief, the young editor took the envelope.

"Incredible!" He exclaimed. "I was supposed to send this to Japan for Fakir, but it got lost last night! How did you find it?"

Odile smirked. "Oh, a little bird told me."

"Excuse me?"

"Alright, alright," she ran a hand through her loose bangs. "I... Well, I found it on campus when I arrived this morning..." Then she changed the subject. "Is this Fakir a friend of yours then?"

Autor rolled his eyes. "For lack of a better word. I happen to be his editor, though I'm top of the class in the advanced music division."

"Oh, so you're a musician as well as an editor, Mister...?"

"Autor Spielmann," he answered plainly.

She nodded as she pronounced his name for the first time. "Autor."

Just then, the schools bell rang out, announcing the first classes of the day.

Odile smiled ruefully and gestured towards the library door.

"After you, Maestro."

Realizing what she was asking, Autor let out a groan of exasperation and raised a martyred glance to the ceiling.

"Alright, I'll show you where the music divisions classes are. Follow me."

* * *

Thankfully, Miss Odile Roth did not bother with Autor any further during the days classes and things seemed to be going along as smooth as usual. With his trained ear he even had to admit Odile had a lovely soprano singing voice and played the piano and violin beautifully.

Finally, it was time for lunch and, as usual, Autor found himself starting his own noonday meal just outside the library. As he worked on his sandwich, he took out the newest book he had signed out the other day; a novel about the White Rose, a group of students and teachers at the University of Munich who had dared to defy the Nazi hijacking of their country during the second world war. They wrote numerous leaflets of protest and distributed them everywhere they could in the city. Tragically, the leaders had been caught and executed, but in that short time their writing had revealed the whole terrible truth and taken back at least a small part of Germany's honour and integrity. How he admired and envied them! They hadn't needed the powers of Drosselmeyer or Fakir for their words to make a difference in the world!

Suddenly, the already annoyingly familiar sound of a banging drum and a childish voice distracted him from his reading.

"Yay zura! It's the weird Autor zura!"

Fakir had called her Uzura. Why on Earth did she have to come back _now_?

"The weird Autor zura! I found the weird Autor zura!" The toddler-like puppet or doll cheered, still banging happily on her drum. At least now she wasn't doing it in the library.

"Would you stop calling me that?" he snapped. A living piece of firewood and she had the nerve to call _him_ weird? "And what are you doing back here anyway? I thought you'd gone back to wherever it was that you'd come from when the story ended."

"Well, she came back, and about the same time we received this message."

Autor looked in surprise to see Fakir and Ahiru approaching. The teenaged writer had an important and official looking letter in his ink stained hand.

"It's from Mytho and Rue!" Ahiru said excitedly.

_Rue Kuroha..._ Autor felt his throat tighten upon hearing the name; Yet another crushing disappointment in his life. Fakir had told him that Mytho had brought her back into the story with him after the defeat of the raven... He still wasn't sure weather his own admiration of her and his confession of love had been determined by the story or not, but he was certain that his feelings were never fake... even if _she_ hadn't believed it.

"Well, what does it say then?" the young music student wanted to know. How did one send a letter from a storybook world anyhow?

Ahiru clasped her hands together with a huge smile. "They're coming to see us on Saturday, the day after tomorrow! There's a few important things they need to take care of here before they can celebrate their engagement!"

"Mytho and Rue zura are really lovey dovey zura!" Uzura cheered from where she now sat in Ahiru's lap.

"_Engagement?_ But he's seventeen and she's only _fourteen_ for heavens sakes! They'll have to sit at the kiddy table for their own wedding!"

Fakir shrugged. "Everyone's ageless in a fairy tale, I guess. The whole time Mytho was here he never grew up, no matter how much I changed."

"Tell me," Autor smirked, adjusting his glasses, "is your 'prince' still jumping out of windows without his pants and then letting you take the blame for pushing him?"

"No, moron, everybody knows I only push obnoxious editors!" Fakir snapped. "Besides, their engagement isn't what the message is about."

Autor crossed his arms. "Then what is it already?" he demanded. The faster this conversation steered away from Rues engagement to Mytho the better.

"The people in their kingdom are being attacked by hordes of huge rats," Ahiru explained. "So far, they've been able to protect everybody, but they wrote to warn us that somehow the same thing might be happening here in Goldcrown. The _cause_ might even be here."

Autor had paled from the moment he'd heard the word "Rats". Last nights encounter had left him more then slightly on edge.

"Would they be larger then normal, with red eyes?" the young music student asked, already knowing he wasn't going to like the answer.

Fakir nodded, frowning. "That's how they were described."

"How did you know, Autor?" Ahiru asked warily, sitting up and taking Uzura's wooden hand.

"Well... I may have seen one of them last night," Autor admitted. "It went after me, but an owl got at it first..." Then his eyes shone with the possibility of another new mystery relating to the town. "I wonder if this means _another_ story of Drosselmeyer's is coming to life here!"

"Oh, and you would just _love_ that, wouldn't you?" Fakir muttered.

Ahiru put her hands on her hips. "You're supposed to be the Drosselmeyer fan boy here, Autor! You tell us!"

Autor grimaced. 'Drosselmeyer fan boy'! Another label he hated!

"So what? Why doesn't Mister 'chosen one' just go and ask the tree?"

Frustrated at this, Fakir seized the book out of his editors hands. "I'm asking _you_, idiot! Though it probably would have been easier with the tree!"

"Alright! Alright!" Autor snatched the book back from Fakir. "Have either of you thought that this could mean _other_ characters from Drosselmeyer's works might have escaped from their storys?"

"We sure have," Ahiru answered with a nod of her red hair.

"The question is who and why?" Fakir added. "I think it's safe to assume that Drosselmeyer can't pull the strings anymore in Goldcrown. At least not when it comes to the story of _"The Prince And The Raven." _

"True... and right now I'm thinking of the story of _"The Nutcracker And The Mouse King"_, Autor commented thoughtfully.

Both Fakir and Ahiru looked at him in surprise.

"But Drosselmeyer never wrote that one," Fakir argued.

Autor shook his head in dismay. "I swear, Fakir, the gift of Drosselmeyer's blood and story spinning powers are completely wasted on you. If you'd studied anything about _your own ancestor_ you'd know he sometimes went by the names of other well known writers to keep the book men off his trail. The character of Drosselmeyer in the book should have given you a clue."

"But in _that_ story Drosselmeyer was a mysterious but doting godfather who just wanted to help his nephew," Fakir pointed out.

"Yeah, and I don't see how Drosselmeyer could have written that because there was a really happy ending to that story," the former duck chirped.

Autor frowned. "Was there now?... Hmmm... I wonder..."

"What is it?" Fakir wanted to know.

"I just think I had better sign that novel out from the library and have a closer look at it," Autor decided. "I can do that after school before I go to..." then he stopped himself. He was going to say before he went to send off Fakirs manuscript to Japan, but no need to admit he'd almost lost it for good last night. What the writer didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

"Before _what?_" Fakir demanded.

"Oh, nothing important." By now he had finished his lunch and had marked the place he'd left off in his book.

"So, are you going to come with us to meet Mytho and Rue at the clock tower the day after tomorrow?" Ahiru invited. "They could probably use your help to find out what's going on too."

"No, I don't think so," came the cool reply. "I wasn't there last time to see them off. I see no reason why I should be part of the welcoming committee this time." He was glad he hadn't been there last time though; Fakir destroying Drosselmeyer's ingenious writing machine as if it were yesterdays garbage and Mytho flying off to live happily ever after with Rue were the _last_ things he had wanted to bear witness to.

The former duck shrugged. "Well, okay. I'm surprised you wouldn't want to see the real prince from Drosselmayer's story and his princess come back into our world though."

"Well, I'll practice my curtsy in case I should happen to run into their royal highnesses," Autor answered bitterly.

Fakir shot him a warning glare which he ignored and Ahiru laughed nervously, hand behind her head.

"Aheh heh... Well, that's no way to talk about visiting royalty, Autor. They might say 'Off with your head!' They're going to be King and Queen someday, you know." She tried to make a light joke to relieve the sudden tension.

In response, Autor got to his feet, turned around and started to head into the library. "Please!" he scoffed, without even looking back. "The only thrones I want those two sitting on around here are the ones that get cleaned every day."

Fakir, Ahiru and Uzura watched as the young editor entered the library, closing the door behind him, then they turned and looked at each other in confusion.

Finally, Fakir shrugged. "Moron."

Uzura shook her head as she returned to banging on her drum. "The weird Autor zura will never ever be lovey dovey zura!" she said.

* * *

Instead of spending the hours after school practising in the piano room that day, Autor went to the library and took out the sought after book, the tale of _"The Nutcracker And The Mouse King"_ by Drosselmeyer, using the name of E.T.A. Hoffmann. Other writers had been all to happy to take credit for Drosselmeyer's works- Hoffman for _"The Nutcracker And The Mouse King" _and Tchaikovsky for the idea for_ "Swan Lake"- _but the great genius hadn't minded that as long as the tales were told entertainingly and the book men were kept out of his hair. Perhaps that was one of the reasons Autor had admired him.

Having signed out the book, Autor left the library and campus grounds and headed towards the towns post office to finally send that troublesome manuscript. How Miss Odile Roth had managed to find the envelope when he'd been searching for it desperately for hours last night and this morning he had no idea, but he was grateful

By the time he had arrived at the office and sent the manuscript on its way, it was getting closer to dinner and he was on his way back to his house.

He hardly noticed the figure in the darkening shadows nearby until they spoke to him.

"So, you've found out, haven't you?"

Startled, he spun around to see none other then the elderly head book man approaching him, still armed with an axe, still with that dark clothing and haunted expression. Strange, the only time the man had come to find him had been that day eight years ago... The rest of the time, it had always been the other way around.

Dropping his schoolbag, Autor raised his hands, backing up nervously. Had the leader come to settle the score for what he'd done to him that night when he'd stopped him from killing Fakir?

"Wait! Wait!" he pleaded. "I'm really sorry about what I did, but Fakir was just trying to end the story and help the town! I couldn't let you..."

"That's enough!" the old man snapped. "I should have known better then to allow you to discover our society and it's secrets when you were a child. I just disliked the alternative of having you silenced when you were powerless and no threat."

Silenced? Like they'd tried to do to Fakir? Autor shuddered inwardly at that.

"Now tell me the truth," the book man continued. "What did you find out?"

"Nothing yet," the young musician turned editor answered honestly. "I... I thought maybe another story was starting up again, even if Drosselmeyer isn't controlling it. Fakir and Ahiru think so too."

At this, a look of horror crossed over the old mans face... then he stepped even closer to Autor, intimidating even though the teenaged music student was considerably taller.

"I am only going to warn you once, so make certain you listen carefully, boy. Do not continue helping that vile descendant with his repugnant hands. With your ammature abilitys it will only lead to more tragedy for everyone, and I might not be able to protect you the next time."

Protect him the next time? What could he possibly be talking about? But before Autor could ask, the book man had left, back into the shadows to join his other unseen comrades...

Swallowing nervously, Autor picked his schoolbag back up and continued on his way home, the old mans warning fresh in his mind... Should he still help Fakir, or would it only make whatever might be happening that much worse?...

Just then, something soft and airy brushed only a few inches past him. A dark figure few by and landed in a nearby tree. Autor blinked in surprise when he recognized the same black owl from the other night. The one who had destroyed the rat.

"You again," he murmured glancing up at it.

The wind rustled the tree's leaves slightly and the black owl looked down on him intently with its knowing goldon yellow gaze that never left him, even after he shrugged and continued on his way back home.

* * *

_"And so the plot thickens!" Drosselmeyer cackled happily while rocking back and forth in his chair. The gears surrounding him began to reveal images of everyone who was becoming involved in this new story as it unfolded before him... Fakir, the descendant and heir, Ahiru, the little duck who had helped him to ruin the last beautiful tragedy. Siegfried, the Prince who had regained his heart, Rue, his Princess raised on ravens blood. Uzura, the puppet child made from the remains of Edel. Now it seemed there were brand new players the old story spinner had overlooked before, including the bookish young music student who had idolized him... _


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

_"Burn down the whole castle from the inside!" she could hear the frightened, angry villagers scream from below as the battering ram pounded against the front gate. "Smoke out the accursed witch!"_

_Had things been the way they used to be- the way they were when she was a child- her father would have rescued her, gathered her up in his arms and comforted her like he always did whenever the other village children would throw rocks and cruel words at her. She would throw her arms around his neck and rest her cheek against his red beard, for which he had gotten his name. Only now she was no longer a helpless child, and her father had become an obsessed madman, finally thwarted by the undying love between his victims._

_Once her fathers trickery had been revealed, as well as the deaths of the prince and his lover that had broken his spell, almost the entire town had turned on her. With her father destroyed along with his curse, they had no better scapegoat then the daughter, apprentice and heir he had left behind. _

_How could she blame them though? For what her father had done to all those innocent girls at the lake, for how he had selfishly used her to hurt others, he deserved to have his own spells backfire against him completely!_

_She had transformed herself into an owl and fled the palace immediately, but not before they had spotted her and tracked her down to her fathers castle. Now they intended to do to her just what they did to anyone and everyone accused and found guilty of witchcraft. Perhaps she should have done more to help her fathers prisoners, but she did not intend to fully take the blame and punishment for his crimes. _

_She could hear the battering ram as it smashed open the gate... They were laying siege to the castle and it would be only a matter of time before they found her... _

_She could run, yes, but that would mean running for the rest of her life, living in constant hiding. She could fight using her magic, of course, but the last thing she wanted to do was cause any more harm or death to anyone, even to those who would happily torture her and burn her at the stake. _

_There was only one remaining option that seemed to promise safety and freedom for her without having to harm anyone or spend the rest of her life in hiding... She would have to escape this world and live in another world entirely..._

* * *

Autor was earlier then usual walking to school that day because he wanted to show Fakir and Ahiru something important he had learned from the end of _"The Nutcracker And The Mouse King"_ when studying it last night. Despite the book man's warning about minding his own business and not getting involved, he had been completely unable to resist the call of yet another mystery.

Just up ahead, he saw Fakir and Ahiru also on their way to the academy As he approached closer to them, he cleared his throat to get their attention.

They both stopped and turned around. Fakir nodded and Ahiru waved to him cheerfully.

"Morning!" the former duck greeted him as he caught up with them.

"So, did you manage to find out anything helpful in that library book?" Fakir immediately wanted to know.

Autor nodded as he took out the book from his schoolbag. "I think so. You should have a look at this paragraph I've marked near the end of the story." Thankfully, this was one story the book man hadn't ripped the ending out of.

The teenaged writer took the book and scanned the part his editor had marked the other night.

"It says here the seven headed Mouse King whispers to Clara in the middle of the night, threatening to chew the nutcracker into pieces unless she gives him her sweets and her dolls. For Nutcrackers sake, she sacrifices her things, but the Mouse King wants more and more until finally Nutcracker tells Clara that if she will just give him a sword he will finish the Mouse King. Clara asks her brother, Fritz for a sword for Nutcracker and he gives her the sword of one of his toy hussars. The next night, Nutcracker comes into Clara's room with the Mouse King's seven crowns and takes her away to the doll kingdom..."

"_Exactly!_ And there you have Drosselmeyer's opening for a tragedy!" Autor interrupted. "A brand new mystery!"

Ahiru shrugged. "What tragedy? What mystery? The Nutcracker Prince killed the Mouse King and he and Clara lived happily ever after."

Autor adjusted his glasses. "Really? And how can you be so sure of that?" he challenged

Fakir flipped to the very end of the book. "Right, it says here the spell was broken, the prince came for Clara and they went back to the doll kingdom where they were later married."

"Right, but your forgetting about the seven headed mouse king," the young musician turned editor reminded him.

"What about him? The nutcracker came back with his seven crowns. Isn't he supposed to be dead?"

Autor shook his head. "The seven crowns were mentioned, yes, but the first rule of mysterys, Fakir, is never take it for granted that someone is dead until you have a corpse. We never actually _read_ about the final battle, never actually _saw_ the killing of the Mouse King. All we got were his seven crowns... and crowns are easily replaceable"

At this, Fakir and Ahiru looked at each other, realizing what Autor was implying...

"Are you saying the Mouse King could have survived and escaped the story somehow?" the former knight demanded.

"Well, if the prince and the raven could escape _their_ story, I see no reason why the Mouse King couldn't escape_ his_." Then he grinned. "Another story set in motion. Isn't that just _thrilling!_"

Fakir looked about ready to cram that book down his mouth. "I don't remember you calling it 'thrilling' when practically everyone in the whole town got turned into ravens!"

"Yeah, and I thought the_ ravens _were creepy!" Ahiru shuddered. "I don't even want to _think_ about seven headed mice or rats! I wonder what Mytho and Rue will have to say about this when they come?"

By now they had arrived at school and Ahiru had already spotted Pique and Lilly waving and hurrying towards her.

Autor and Fakir both groaned inwardly. Pique they had no problem with, but Lilly was another matter entirely.

"Ahiru! Ahiru!" the blonde girl called excitedly. "Did you hear what happened in the boy's dormitory last night?"

The rosy haired girl raised up her hands and curled her fingers in imitation of claws. "There were a whole bunch of big ugly rats with red eyes! They scratched and bit some of the boys! And when the boys fought back and killed them, the dead rats just kind of disappeared!"

At this Fakir stiffened. "None of those rats would have happened to have seven heads, would they?"

"Oh no," Lilly answered with a squeal, putting her hands to her blushing cheeks, "but Lysander got bit and now Hermia's lovingly tending his battle wound. What if he gets typhoid or something and she trys to nurse him back to health, only to have him die in her arms? Ooo! How tragically romantic!"

Autor shook his head. Honestly, how Ahiru had remained friends with Lilly was something far beyond even his comprehension.

* * *

At lunch break after the noonday meal, Autor could be found at his second must usual haunt, the main practice room where he enjoyed spending most of his free time at the piano. A diligent music student and pianist, he had always made sure the schools main piano was as tuned and polished as his own at home.

He fumbled through the worn, ageing music book that had once been his fathers when he was a music teacher here at the academy It had some of the most popular musical compositions of legendary geniuses like Mozart, Beethoven, Bach, Chopin, Strauss and Tchaikovsky. Today though, he couldn't think of any of the great classics he really felt like playing...

_"Freude, schöner Götterfunken..." _he began to murmer the lyrics while playing the tune halfheartedly, _"Tochter aus Elysium..." _Then he stopped. No, he hadn't played this piece since the day his mother had left him on his own, and he wasn't about to start again now.

Tomorrow Mytho and Rue would be back in Goldcrown... _Rue_... He wondered just how he would react upon seeing her again... best to just avoid her altogether, he decided, until she returned with Mytho back to whatever fairytale kingdom they'd come from...

Almost before he knew it, his fingers were moving across the piano keys, playing the Rufus Wainwright version of Leonid Cohen's _"Hallelujah"_... For some reason, it made him think of that time he'd met Rue on the street and he'd fallen in love with her only to be laughed at and told to go home for the second time that day...

_I've heard there was a secret chord_

_That David played, and it pleased the Lord_

_But you don't really care for music, do you?_

_It goes like this_

_The fourth, the fifth_

_The minor fall, the major lift_

_The baffled king composing Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah..._

Somehow, he found himself singing along quietly as he played, all the way to the very last verse. He'd always been better at expressing whatever he felt through playing music then any other way, and there was nobody else around right now so he didn't have to worry about being overheard...

_Maybe there's a God above_

_And all I ever learned from love_

_Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you_

_It's not a cry you can hear at night_

_It's not somebody who's seen the light_

_It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah_

_Hallelujah, Hallelujah..._

Before he could finish the last chorus, he felt someone's gaze on him... He looked up, startled to see the new music student, Odile Roth, standing in the doorway. How she had gotten there, and been standing there so long without his noticing, he had no idea!

She smiled and raised her hand. "Oh, please, don't stop."

He stopped, regardless, completely flustered and embarrassed at having been caught off guard like that.

"That's the end of the last chorus anyway," he lied. "Something I can do for you?"

"Well," she answered, entering the room, violin case in hand, "I heard you playing and I thought we could practice a little before next class, Maestro."

"Practice together?" He narrowed his eyes warily. "Why?"

Odile shrugged, "Well, maybe I'm crazy, but I've decided to make friends with you."

This certainly came as a surprise. Nobody had ever really approached him for friendship before- unless there was something he could do for them or something they wanted from him- not even the bubbly Ahiru. The concept seemed rather novel, and he supposed he did owe her for helping to prevent an unpleasant confrontation with Fakir the other day...

"Really?... I've never had many friends," he said, almost more to himself.

"Well, neither have I actually," Odile admitted. "That's at least something we have in common." Then she had a look at the music book on top of the piano. "I haven't seen this in class. Is it yours?"

"It was my father's," Autor answered quietly. "He used to teach music here before he passed on. I suppose that was one of the main reasons I wanted to enrol"

The look in her yellow eyes was one of understanding that seemed almost familiar in a way. "I'm sorry... My father is gone too... I remember, when I was a child I wanted to be exactly like him."

Not sure why he was even bothering with such a subject, Autor asked "Well, what do you want to be now then?"

At this, she shook her head with a rueful smile. "Anything but like _him_ I suppose... Now, what should we play?" She skimmed through the music book with interest. "Let me see... Mozart, Beethoven, Bach, Chopin, Strauss, Tchaikovsky and Stravinsky, my favourites. Hmmm... No Wagner?"

Autor crossed his arms. "_Wagner?_ Are you serious? As a musician, I have a certain moral integrity to uphold. Playing Wagner in this music room would be like reading out _"Meine Kampf"_ in the library."

"I suppose I can't argue with you there," Odile nodded in agreement. "Alright then, but how about something more cheerful then _"Hallelujah"_ though? Maybe Mozart's' _"Eine Kleine Nachtmusik"_?

The Serenade No.13 for strings in G major, K. 525, also known as_ "A Little Night Music". _That happened to be one of his favourites

"Alright," he agreed enthusiastically, "and since you have the violin, you take the top and I'll take the bottom."

She brought out her violin from its case and after a few moments of adjusting the strings drew her bow and began to play the first uplifting notes of one of Mozart's most famous and popular symphonys.

The piece was initially written for a chamber ensemble of two violins, viola and cello with optional double bass, but somehow Odile made it sound just as invigorating and beautiful with a single violin. Autor soon joined in on the piano, his fingers now lighter on the keys at the upbeat, classical tune.

Soon they had completed the last notes of the symphony, each without a single mistake. Smiling with pleasure and accomplishment, Odile lowered her bow and violin.

"That was excellent! Thank you for the accompaniment, Maestro."

He lowered his gaze to the piano keys shyly.

"You're welcome..." Then he thought of something. "I suppose you've heard about that incident with the rats in the boy's dormitory, right?"

"Yes," she answered, "pretty much everyone has heard of that by now, but you don't stay in the dormitorys here though, do you?"

"No, of course not." He lifted his chin up haughtily "I stay at my own home." There was no way he would be caught dead staying at the academy's tacky dormitorys. It would be to much like living in an orphanage.

Odile shrugged again, then began to place her violin and bow back in their case.

"Well, you should be careful anyway," she said. "I heard those rats were allot bigger and more aggressive then rodents usually are."

"I believe that," Autor muttered under his breath.

The bell for the afternoon classes sounded and Odile started towards the door to leave the room.

"Well, I'll see you next class then, Maestro," she said, about to open the door and enter the hallway. .

Before he could even think about what he was doing enough to stop himself, the young music student sat up from the piano bench and said "Wait!"

"Yes?..." She tilted her head in surprise.

"I... ahhh... well... I just thought maybe you'd like to practice together again sometime... but I can understand if you... I mean..."

"That sounds wonderful," she interrupted him with a smile. "How about here again, Saturday before lunch?"

"Alright then," he agreed. "Twelve fifteen, and I _will_ be timing you, so make sure you're not late."

In response, Odile laughed warmly. "Well, don't forget, Mozart was _always_ late." Then with a final wave of her hand she had left the room to start afternoon classes.

Autor gathered up his things and headed down the hall for afternoon classes also. He could see Odile just up ahead, in conversation with both Pique and Lilly. Although they hadn't noticed him, he was just close enough to hear what they were saying...

"Oh, I can't believe you were in there practising with the weird Autor!" Lilly exclaimed.

"Why not?" Odile asked. "He doesn't seem much weirder then anyone else around here."

Pique shook her rose coloured head.

"Well, pretty much everyone here thinks he's weird and creepy. He's always shushing people in the library and he thinks he's to good to stay in the boy's dormitory so he lives all alone in that big house, just like that guy in _"Citizen Kane."_

"Oh... I suppose that's why he looks so lonely then," Odile said thoughtfully. "I've never really been the social type myself."

"Well, I don't think so," Pique insisted. "Autor never bothers much with anyone, so nobody really pays attention to him except for the wonderful Fakir and Ahiru. And that's only because he helps to edit the wonderful Fakirs writing."

"Though it's hard to imagine the wonderful, fantastic Fakir having anything to do with somebody like the weird Autor," Lilly sing-songed. "Maybe he and Ahiru just took pity on the poor, pathetic wretch! Oh, that's so cute and sweet!"

At this, Odile laughed outrightly.

"The wonderful Fakir? The weird Autor? Do you have labels for everyone here in Germany or is it just at this academy?"

"Ooo! But don't you think Fakir is wonderful and fantastic?" they both asked in surprise.

"Well, I suppose he has that whole dark, brooding appeal," the black haired girl admitted with a shrug, "but he's not the most extroverted person around here either. Besides, he needs a haircut."

At this, Autor had to cover his mouth to hide his snicker and keep from laughing.

* * *

Study period before the last classes of the day found Autor in the library trying to find and research any more works by Drosselmeyer that had any mention of the Mouse King or of characters being attacked by mice or rats. Unfortunately, the only thing of any relevance he had found so far was an old copy of _"The Pied Piper Of Hamlin"_ and in _that_ story the_ piper _was somewhat more disturbing then the _rats!_

Just then, a pair of hands thrust a whole load of papers in front of him on the table he was studying at. Autor looked up to see Fakir standing over him and looking rather proud of himself.

"Alright, so, what's this?" the musician turned editor asked.

"What does it look like?" the teenaged writer answered, crossing his arms. "I decided to take your advice and work on one of my so-called "terrible ideas"

Interested, Autor scanned the manuscript in front of him.

"This is about how you wrote Ahiru back as a human girl," he noted with surprise. "I thought you two said you weren't going to mention anything about that in your works?"

Fakir rested his hand on the table. "Well, we were talking, and if Ikuko Itoh and Hal Film Maker accept the manuscript you already sent, then we thought this second story should be written and kept on hand, just in case we change our minds. I figured it wouldn't do any harm writing about things that already happened to Ahiru and I."

"Right," Autor agreed, adjusting his glasses, "and so far your storys only come true when they're about that girl anyhow."

At this, Fakir tilted his head at his editor. "Speaking of girls, Ahiru tells me you and that new student, Odile Roth, were hanging out in the practice room together. Pique and Lilly saw you."

Autor shrugged. "We were getting in some extra practice before class. What of it?"

"Nothing, we just thought it was about time, that's all. It was creepy the way you were always stalking me at the beginning. We were starting to wonder about you."

_Stalking?_ Fakir had practically kept Mytho under lock and key for ten years and he had the nerve to accuse _him_ of being a creepy stalker?

"What are you talking about?" he demanded in an offended tone.

Fakir shrugged. "Well, you are a _musician_ after all."

"Well, you're a _ballet dancer _for Gods sakes!" Autor scoffed.

At this, Fakir raised a fist. "Right, ever had your butt kicked by a ballet dancer?" he growled.

The young music student rolled his eyes. "Let's leave this display of manhood at home, shall we? And what are you going to do anyway? Lock me up like you did Mytho?"

"He had no problem with it," came the flimsy protest. "It was for his own good while he was emotionless."

"I'm sure it was," Autor replied dryly, rising from the table and taking the rough draft of Fakirs latest manuscript with him. "I'll edit this tonight and bring it to you tomorrow so you can start the final draft this weekend. In the meantime, try not to throw any more of your works in the fire like you did before. Oh, and one more thing..."

"What?" Fakir crossed his arms again.

Autor smirked, remembering Odile's words. "You should get a hair cut."

* * *

_"Oh, we mustn't get to cocky now, Autor, my boy!" Drosselmeyer chuckled darkly, rocking in his chair and surveying the library scene depicted in the moving gears. His young descendant and heir, Fakir, was glowering after his smart mouthed editor, who was deliberately and smugly ignoring his dirty look. _

_The next gear showed a different scene; the form of a black, yellow eyed owl peering down from the trees, unseen by Autor as he started on his way home after school. What part would this character- also an escapee from one of his own tales- play in this new story?_

_The gears shifted again and showed yet another scene... It was all darkness, except for seven pairs of beady red eyes that glared out threateningly from the shadows around them... _

_"Just you wait until the next scene, Autor, my eager young fan! The new villain of our latest story has finally resurfaced. He has decided that you are learning far to much, and has chosen your own heart as it's next sacrificial meal! Of course, he knows you're the perfect choice. Someone so meaningless and insignificant, you'll never be missed!" _


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

_"Autor, dear, you should go upstairs and get washed. It's almost time for dinner," his mother reminded him as she entered the living room where her son had spent every minute on the piano since he had come home from school. It didn't help that he was practising "Lacrymosa" from Mozart's Requiem Mass in D minor, a piece which had always made her quite nervous and uneasy. _

_Lacrimosa_  
_Lacrimosa dies illa_  
_Qua resurget ex favilla_  
_Judicandus homo reus._

_Huic ergo parce, Deus_  
_Pie Jesu Domine_  
_Dona eis requiem, Amen._

_Already a perfectionist at five years old, the child looked up from the black and white keys pleadingly through the lenses of his new large glasses. _

_"Can't I practice just a little longer, Mom?" he begged. "Please?"_

_She sighed and shook her head. "You've been at that piano for almost three hours now, darling. It's time for a rest." _

_She reached out to help him off the piano bench, but to her surprise he drew away._

_"No!" he insisted stubbornly. "I have to practice and get Mozart's final and best piece perfect for tomorrow! I have to be the very best at it!"_

_His mother frowned. "But why, dear?"_

_Autor looked away and was silent, clenching his small fists. After a moment, he spoke up._

_"Because.. Because all the other boys at kindergarten... Well, they're all bigger and stronger and faster then me... None of them need glasses either... I thought maybe if I could be the smartest and the best at music..." His voice trailed off. _

_"Now I see," she replied, sitting down on the piano bench beside him. "Sweetheart, nobody expects you to be the very smartest or the very best at music. You're not even six years old yet." _

_"But, Mom, Mozart was a child prodigy! He was composing pieces when he was just five!" _

_At this, she affectionately toussled his hair, to which he half halfheartedly batted her hand away and smoothed it back._

_"Autor, you aren't Mozart," his mother said with an amused smile, "and you don't have to be. You know, your father loved to play the piano and violin. He's the one who taught me. When we were children he would always say he wanted to be a famous prodigy like Mozart too, and do you know what my father said to that?" _

_"No," the little boy tilted his head in curiosity. His oversize glasses almost fell off of his face and he adjust them. "What did he say, Mom?" _

_She imitated her fathers husky, gravelly voice in exaggeration. "You want to be a trained monkey?" She poked her son gently in the side to make him laugh. "You want to be dragged across Europe doing tricks like a circus freak?" _

_Autor had to clutch his young sides he was laughing to hard along with her. _

_"Will I ever meet your dad or mom sometime, Mom?" he asked, finally settling down. As far as he knew, his mother was the only family relation he had. _

_At this, she frowned slightly, a look of concern in her eyes. "Maybe one day, dear, but not for awhile yet." _

_He had just begun to realize that his mother never liked to talk of her own family that much. _

_"I'll tell you what," she said, her smile returning as she quickly changed the subject, "why don't we play one of our favourite songs together on the piano before dinner, just to relax? Then you can practice the piece you've been working on again tomorrow, alright?" _

_Glad to be allowed to stay just a little bit longer at the piano at least, her son agreed. "Oh, alright then, Mom. How about our favourite lullaby?" _

_"That's just what I was going to suggest," she beamed at him. Then the next moment the two of them were playing by duet their favourite of all the most popular children's songs in Germany, Autor joining in as his mother sang the familiar, comforting words._

_Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf._  
_Der Vater hüt't die Schaf._  
_Die Mutter schüttelt's Bäumelein,_  
_Da fällt herab ein Träumelein._  
_Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf!_

_Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf._  
_Am Himmel ziehn die Schaf._  
_Die Sternlein sind die Lämmerlein,_  
_Der Mond, der ist das Schäferlein._  
_Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf!_

_Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf._  
_So schenk' ich dir ein Schaf._  
_Mit einer goldnen Schelle fein,_  
_Das soll dein Spielgeselle sein._  
_Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf._

* * *

Autor's eyes fluttered open and he found himself at the desk in his room. Obviously, he had fallen asleep while reading Fakirs latest manuscript. His classes had ended earlier then usual today so he had come home to do some editing, and judging from the clock he had slept for at least over half an hour. It was almost three o clock now.

Remembering the dream, his eyes were burning slightly... He knew the danger signals, so he took off his glasses with one hand and wiped the impending wetness from his eyes with the other before any tears had the chance to fall... It was strange what the subconscious mind could remember while one was asleep...

Shrugging it off, Autor then busied himself with continuing his editing of Fakir's latest story; how the reincarnation of the gallant knight- the descendant and heir of an incredible literary genius- had cast down his sword and picked up the pen to return the one he had fallen in love with to her human form so they could be together forever. Though he hated to admit it to himself, it almost didn't need editing. It was extremely well written and very romantic, like how _"Swan Lake"_ could have ended if Prince Siegfried and Princess Odette had lived, like how the story of _"The Prince And The Raven" _had ended for _another_ Prince Siegfried and his chosen Princess, Rue...

Fakir and Ahiru, Mytho and Rue... How he envied the four of them for having such important leading roles in this story, and for the happy endings they had won for themselves... What was his own purpose besides helping Fakir master story spinning, or did he even have one?

Just then, the bookish young music student was startled out of his work and musings by a familiar sound coming from the living room downstairs... The sound of his piano playing and a voice singing. But there shouldn't be anybody else here in this house now!

_Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf.  
Der Vater hüt't die Schaf.  
Die Mutter schüttelt's Bäumelein,  
Da fällt herab ein Träumelein.  
Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf!_

Autor couldn't believe it! Even after eight long years he would know that beautiful voice anywhere!

_Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf.  
Am Himmel ziehn die Schaf.  
Die Sternlein sind die Lämmerlein,  
Der Mond, der ist das Schäferlein.  
Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf!_

_"Mother...?"_ he whispered... Had she finally come back home after all this time, or could he possibly still be dreaming...?

_Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf.  
So schenk' ich dir ein Schaf._

There was only one way to know for certain... He rose from his desk and left his room, following the piano's music and her voice through the long hallway, down the main stairway and to the closed double doors of the living room...

_Mit einer goldnen Schelle fein,  
Das soll dein Spielgeselle sein.  
Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf._

He hesitated at first, then, taking a breath, he opened the doors... All at once, the piano music was gone, the room was empty and there was nobody sitting on the piano bench...

At this, Autor wasn't sure weather to be relieved or disappointed.. Then he shook his head ruefully. Of course the whole thing was probably just wishful thinking combined with his over reactive imagination. This whole business with the mysterious rat attacks and the Mouse King must really be starting to get to him.

Just then, somehow, the music returned, only this time it seemed to come from outside the house and it sounded more like an organ then a piano... He remembered his mother had sometimes played the organ at church, but this wasn't a Sunday...

The young musician turned editor hurried to the front door hallway and went outside. The music sounded clearer now and he followed it through his front yard and down the street as the sun began to set over the town. For some reason, nobody else outside seemed to even notice the music...

He started to run, but he tripped and his glasses fell to the ground. Barely even noticing them, he scrambled back up to his feet and continued to run down the street towards the music, even if his vision was now slightly blurry...

Soon, Autor came to the town's old church and the organ's music was now tantalizingly close, bringing back certain memories...

Once his mother had introduced him to the pastor whom she substituted for whenever he was to busy or unable to play the organ, and Autor had bluntly told her afterwards that he didn't like him because he couldn't play as well as she did...

Another time, she had forbidden Autor to come to a very late evening service because it was several hours past his regular bedtime, but he had snuck out to the church to listen to her play, regardless. She had been so amused and touched that she hadn't even punished him...

He approached the church entrance and rested his hands on the wooden doors... Now he _knew_ he couldn't possibly be dreaming... It could only be her in there, playing that favourite childhood song...

_Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf.  
Der Vater hüt't die Schaf.  
Die Mutter schüttelt's Bäumelein,  
Da fällt herab ein Träumelein.  
Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf!_

Slowly, Autor opened the doors and entered the church... Even though he had completely expected it, the sight of her there at the end of the long line of pews, playing the organ as if nothing had ever changed since she had left, made his throat tighten and his eyes burn...

_"Mother...?"_ he finally managed to murmur "You're home..."

At this, she rose slowly from the organ and turned to face him, although somehow the organ continued to play on...

"Yes, my dearest son," she smiled. "I've come back for you." Then she opened her arms towards him, her eyes glowing a strange and unfamiliar bright red. "Now, come to your mother, darling and give me your heart."

As she spoke, the large, beady eyed rats invaded the church and surrounded him, though he barely noticed, so entranced was he...

The organ ceased to play the familiar, beloved lullaby and instead began to play the haunting _"Lacrymosa" _from Mozart's Requiem Mass in D minor...

_Lacrimosa  
Lacrimosa dies illa  
Qua resurget ex favilla  
Judicandus homo reus._

_Huic ergo parce, Deus_  
_Pie Jesu Domine_  
_Dona eis requiem, Amen._

* * *

"I still can't believe I finally actually graduated from the beginners class!" Ahiru exclaimed proudly, admiring her new toe shoes. As usual, Pique and Lilly had assumed she would fail this months exam and had planned a party to cheer her up, but they were just as thrilled to hear she really had caught up to them and the three of them would be in the intermediate class together.

"You've been practising much harder," Fakir commented with nod of approval, though the warm expression in his green eyes told her he was probably the proudest of her out of everyone.

Ahiru blushed and put a hand behind her head. "Ahaha! Well, I've been getting to class on time more often, and the teacher says I may even get to be in the ensemble for the spring production of _"Cinderella"_! Wait 'till I tell Rue and Mytho tomorrow! Of course, you'll probably get a lead role. You're the best in the advanced class."

"We'll see," he shrugged with a small smile. He was remembering both of the times he had danced a _pas des doux_ with Ahiru... The first was only an excuse to warn her to stay away from Mytho, but the second time in Drosselmeyer's Lake of Despair had been different all together... Strange, even though Ahiru wasn't as advanced as Rue, Mytho and himself in her ballet training, there was a warm feeling of rightness both times he had danced with her... And though he would never admit it, he had felt a little more then slightly envious that time he'd had to sit and watch her dance with Mytho as Princess Tutu...

"I guess it's allot easier to relax and concentrate when your teacher isn't threatening to marry you all the time," the former duck joked and the two of them laughed, remembering what Mister Cat had been like before the story had ended and he had turned back into a normal feline with a mate and kittens.

"Fakir? You're Fakir Ritter and Ahiru Arima, aren't you?" came an unfamiliar voice from behind them.

They turned around in surprise to see a dark-haired, yellow-eyed girl approaching them, a violin case in one hand and a large, but thin and light, book tucked under her other arm. Like herself, she hadn't yet changed from her school uniform.

"That's right," Ahiru chirped in greeting as the girl caught up with them. "And you're Odile Roth, that new music student from Russia, right?"

"Yes, I am," she answered. "Are you two friends of Autor's?"

Fakir and Ahiru looked at each other for a moment...

"For lack of a better word," the former knight finally replied with a roll of his eyes.

"Funny, that's just what _he_ said," Odile muttered dryly. Then she held out the book. "Anyway, this is his father's music book. He left it in the practice room, but it seems important to him, so I thought he might want it for the weekend."

Ahiru had an idea. "Hey! Why don't we show you where Autor lives, then you can give him back his book?" she suggested before Fakir could object. "Fakir and I were just going there to see if he's finished editing the rough draft of his story, _weren't we, Fakir?_"

Both girls gave him piercing, expectant looks, as if daring him to contradict them. Fakir looked first at one and then the other before finally admitting defeat with a shrug.

"Oh, alright then," he groaned. "Back to Autor's house and into the belly of the beast."

Ahiru tried unsuccessfully to stifle a giggle as the three of them headed down the street together and Odile laughed.

"Really, he can't be _that_ bad," the new music student replied in amusement.

"He's an idiot," the teenaged writer insisted plainly.

His de facto girlfriend shook her head with a smile. "Fakir, you say that about _everybody_," she pointed out.

"Well, you have to give him credit, at least he's not prejudiced," Odile joked and the two girls both laughed.

"Seriously, I don't think Autor is so terrible," the new music student continued. "Yes, he comes off as stuck up, but I think his eyes seem a little... well... lonely, if you can look past the glare of his glasses that is."

Ahiru had to agree. "Yeah, at first when Autor started helping Fakir with his writing I thought he was just a mean weird guy. I didn't really like him or think much about him... but now... well, he makes me think of Fakir when I first met him... " her voice trailed off thoughtfully. What was it they said about how you should never sit at the front of the ballet, otherwise it spoiled the illusion?

Fakir said nothing, but he knew what she meant. Now that he thought about it, neither he nor Autor had been all that used to dealing with peers their own age; himself because he'd spent the better part of his life being Mythos keeper, living in fear of meeting the same fate as his past incarnation, and Autor because of his reclusive, snobbish airs, which he suspected was a cover up for a massive inferiority complex.

Soon, however, the conversation turned to classes at the academy. Ahiru still couldn't get over how excited she was to have finally graduated from the beginners class to the intermediate with Pique and Lilly, and Odile spoke of the Mariinsky Ballet theatre in Saint Petersburg, her favourite performances there being _"Petrushka"_ and _"The Firebird" _by Igor Fyodorovich Stravinsky.

"So, what's _"Petrushka"_ about?" Ahiru asked, curious. That was one ballet story she hadn't heard yet. "There aren't any ravens or rats in it, are there?"

"Oh no, it's about a poor clown puppet with human feelings," Odile explained, "but he's controlled and mistreated by a thoughtless charlatan."

"The clown puppet, Petrushka, loves the ballerina puppet, but she rejects him in favour of the moor puppet," Fakir added. "The two puppets fight over the ballerina, but Petrushka is killed by the moor puppet. Charlatan doesn't care though. To him, the clown is just a worthless toy."

"Oh. That's so sad," Ahiru replied tearfully. Something about that story hit a bit to close to home. This whole town and everyone in it had been controlled by Drosselmeyer's storys much like the puppets were by the charlatan.

The three had arrived on the street where the old church was. It was only a block or two to Autor's from there.

Suddenly, Odile stopped and tilted her head with a frown. "Do you two hear something?"

Ahiru's ears pricked and she nodded. "Music... I think it must be coming from the church..."

"I hear it too," Fakir added. "Slow... Kind of mournful..."

"I think it's Mozart's _"Lacrymosa"_ from his requiem mass," Odile noted. According to rumour, the great composer had begun writing the piece for his own funeral. "That's usually played for funerals, but I don't know of any funerals taking place here right now."

_Funerals_... Ahiru shuddered...

"And it's still only Friday," Fakir agreed. There shouldn't be any church services going on right now."

Something glinted on the ground, catching Odile's attention... She went to pick it up and found it was a pair of familiar looking glasses...

"Hmmm... Now who could have lost these?" she wondered aloud, showing them to Fakir...

Ahiru scratched her head in thought. "Fakir... don't those look like Autor's...?"

"Yeah..." the teenaged writer answered warily, studying them. "These sure look like his..."

At this, the three of them all glanced at each other in concern...

"I don't like this," Odile stated...

"That makes all three of us," the former duck agreed and Fakir nodded, frowning...

Together, they made their way over to the church, the music growing louder and clearer the closer they came...

Fakir pushed open the double doors and they entered the church... All three of them gasped at what they saw at the very end of the long rows of pews...

Autor was standing, his back towards them... In front of him stood a beautiful woman, almost ethereal looking... She smiled, and her arms reached out towards him, but her eyes glowed an unnaturally bright red...

Autor was soon surrounded by a horde of large black rats that seemed to be herding him over towards the mysterious woman, though he paid almost no notice...

"I can't believe it," he said in a strangely empty, mechanical sounding voice as he was drawn closer to her, "I can't believe you've finally come back, Mother."

_Mother?_ Fakir, Ahiru and Odile all looked at each other in shock!

"Yes, my darling," she answered soothingly, "but I'm home now and I will never leave you again. Now come to your mother and give me your heart, like a good son."

"Yes," he agreed in that disturbingly lifeless tone, similar to when the Raven's intended victims had been hypnotized...

To the threesome's horror, he stepped closer and reached out his own arms towards her...

* * *

_"The stage is set and the cast is nearly fully complete!" Drosselmeyer, the charlatan puppeteer, laughed in delight as he swung on the clock's pendulam._

_The scene in the moving gears showed the knight, the duck and the runaway, outcast sorceress arriving just in time to see the worthless, false storyspinner about to sacrifice his own heart to an illusion created by the seven headed villan._

_"I wonder what you will all do now?" the storryspinner pondered in excited anticipation. "Tell me a brand new story, everybody! Tell me an incredibley tragic tale with no regard for your own lives!"_


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"Autor, no!" Odile and Ahiru cried out in warning, but he neither saw nor heard them over the tune of Mozart's _"Lacrymosa"_.

"Dammit!" Fakir growled. Of all times for a former knight to be without a freaking sword! He didn't even have a pen and paper to at least write Ahiru out of here to safety!

The three ran forward, trying to get through to the hypnotized boy, but the enormous black rats barred their way, claws and teeth glinting threateningly.

"Where's a good exterminator when you need one?" Odile muttered.

Ahiru felt the tears rim her eyes as she saw Autor being drawn closer and closer to the woman he had called his mother. But this couldn't be! What _real_ mother would take her own sons heart? If what the young editor had theorized earlier was true, this could only be a trap set by the Mouse King who would devour a human heart as enthusiastically as the Monster Raven! If only she had the power to become Princess Tutu again!

It was then that the rats attacked. The first few bit and scratched at Odile- who tried to fend them off with the music book and violin case- while the others lunged at Ahiru, but Fakir managed to step in their way and shield her from the worst of the assault with his bare hands.

"Fakir!" Ahiru cried out in concern for her knight, wincing in empathy for his painful, bloody bites and scratches.

"It's alright," he hissed, trying reassure her, though not even the raven's attacks had drawn up blood as viciously as that.

Odile clenched her hands, biting the inside of her lip as more rats began to advance on them... She hadn't wanted there to be an audience, but now there seemed to be no choice if they were to save the maestro and get out of here in one piece... She just hoped her schoolmates wouldn't come after her with pitchforks and burning torches once they saw...

Both Ahiru and Fakir watched in shock and amazement as Odile transformed in front of them... Her mouth and nose became a long sharp beak, her arms a pair of large, powerful black wings and her legs became curved, glinting talons... Where their human schoolmate had been was now a large, black owl...

With an angry screech, the owl flew at the rats in a flash of beak feathers and talons. The majority of the red eyed vermin squealed as they were ripped apart and disappeared

Fakir had an idea. He gestured to Ahiru and they each grabbed one the long church candelabras to light them. Once having lit the wicks, they charged against the remaining rats who were soon burned down to cinders and disappeared

The owl flew to their side and in an instant Odile was standing by them again.

"No time to explain now," she said quickly upon seeing their bewildered faces.

By now, Autor was close enough to the mysterious woman to reach back out for the hand she extended to him...

"You have no use or purpose here, my dear son," she crooned soothingly. "This story, this world, has no need of you. It never has and never will. Your only use is to sacrifice your heart to me, so it may feed the rats and their master."

"Yes, Mother," came the soft, mechanical reply. "I'll give you my heart. That's my only true purpose in this world. The only thing I was put here to do."

"Autor, no!" Odile cried out, rushing towards him.

"No! That's not true!" Ahiru added as she and Fakir followed suite.

They tried to get to the young musician, but the woman raised her hands and a forceful blast threw all three of them backwards.

Fakir was the first to scramble to his feet. "Autor, _listen!_" he tried to yell over the funeral tune which was growing even louder by the moment. "You have to get away from her _now!_ Can you hear us?"

But the hypnotized editor made no movement or sound to indicate he even realized they were there.

Desperately looking for some way to bring Autor away from this entranced suicide, Odile's gaze fell on her violin case... She was getting an idea that just might work...

"Odile, what are you doing?" Ahiru asked as the dark haired girl removed her violin and bow. "Now's not the time to be playing music!"

"On the contrary, this is the _perfect_ time to be playing music!" Odile answered. "Mozart's Requiem is to depressing. We need something more upbeat from the great genius!"

As she spoke, she drew her bow against the violin strings and began to play the famous piece she had practised with Autor earlier. The Serenade No.13, _"Eine Kleine Nachtmusik"_, in G major...

Both Fakir and Ahiru listened in astonishment as the lighter and more uplifting tune played on a single violin gradually drowned out the organ's mournful funeral march...

Autor, please listen! She silently pleaded. Come away from there!

Somehow, the violin serenade reached him and the maestro stopped and turned his head to face his three schoolmates... Odile noted that he looked younger without his glasses... more vulnerable somehow...

"Fakir? Ahiru?" he blinked several times in surprise and confusion as his eyes cleared from the trance. His gaze fell to the girl who was still playing the violin. Despite his blurred vision without his glasses, he still recognized her. "Odile? What are you doing here?"

Fakir stepped forward angrily "We're saving your sorry rear end, you pompous idiot! Now get away from there!"

Not wanting to stop, for fear of Autor coming back under the trance, Odile continued playing, but both she and Ahiru shot the teenaged story spinner a chastising look.

"I wouldn't have put it quite like that," Ahiru said, "but he's right."

"Yes, you're in grave danger," Odile added. "You have to come away from that woman right now."

At this, Autor laughed and shook his head.

"Oh no, you're wrong," he protested happily. "You don't understand. My mother has finally come back home after eight years! I thought I'd never see her again, but she's really here!"

Odile frowned and narrowed her yellow eyes.

"I can't pretend to know what your mother was like, Maestro, but I know this can't possibly be her. Take another look."

Slowly, Autor turned back around and let out a horrified cry. Where the image of his mother had been, seven pairs of glowing red eyes, sharp yellow teeth and claws now leered at him from the growing shadows.

"Well well, I might have known the daughter of Von Rothbart would be able to see through that illusion," snarled a voice, "but it makes no difference. This worthless human's heart is mine and I will be replenished."

Autor backed away in fright as the realization of what was happening washed over him...

"The seven headed Mouse King," he murmured.

"Oh, please, as the first halfway decent meal I have had in centuries, you may call me the _Rat_ King now," mocked the dark voice.

The next moment, a gigantic claw with razor sharp nails came towards him. Autor managed to jump out of the way, but not before the claw shredded the sleeve of his school jacket and left several deep, bloody gashes on his arm. He gripped his arm, clenching his teeth in pain.

"Autor!" Odile cried out in alarm, dropping her violin. The three of them ran to where the young music student knelt wounded on the church's stone floor.

"Come now, you are about to become part of something glorious; The resurrection of a being even more powerful then the Monster Raven. You should be honoured"

The enormous black claw came at them again, but Odile became her owl form once more and her talons left several deep gashes of their own on the monster rat's claw. He drew it back with a snarl of pain.

"That's just an honour he's going to have to decline!" she hissed, returning to her human form. "Didn't your mother ever tell you not to play with your food?"

"Oh, now you've made me lose my dinner," came the falsely wounded tone.

"You'll lose more then that if you ever come near any of us again!" Fakir threatened angrily

Each of the the Rat King's seven heads laughed chillingly. Unlike the Monster Raven, he was patient Ever since he had escaped the Nutcracker Prince- and the story- over a century ago, he had been waiting for just the right time to step in for his predecessor and take over where he had failed... but toying with one's intended victims, as a cat would have toyed with his mother, brothers and sisters before devouring them, was part of the fun...

"We shall see who loses what, Sir Knight. Miss Von Rothbart, it's been a pleasure seeing you again." And with that, there was no longer any sign of the new seven headed adversary...

"He's gone..." Ahiru whispered. "For now..."

Fakir nodded. "But he'll be back. You could say the rat's out of the trap."

"And he almost got the cheese," Odile noted with a smirk.

Suddenly, to everyone's surprise, Autor burst out laughing, shaking almost hysterically, slapping his hand on the stone floor as if at some hilarious joke.

"I _knew_ it!" he cried, eyes wild. "I just knew it! The Mouse King wasn't killed by the Nutcracker Prince at all! He escaped the story, just like the raven, and gave himself the title of the Rat King! Once again my hypothesis is right on the mark! I swear, I'm getting tired of being right all the time! And what's more..."

_"You damned moron!"_ Fakir yelled, angrily interrupting his editor and seizing him by the jacket collar "How can you just laugh like that! Do you realize what we just went through to save you? We could have all gotten killed!"

Brown eyes met green, and Fakir's furious expression faded when he saw the painful emptiness and hopelessness that now clouded them...

"And who asked you to save me, Fakir?" the young musician demanded. "What makes you so sure I _wanted_ to be saved in the first place?"

The former knight stepped back and released him in shock at those words. _"What...?"_

"Autor!" Odile gasped as the maestro sank back to the floor on his knees.

"You can't mean that!" Ahiru insisted. They hadn't let the Monster Raven take anyone's heart and they weren't about to let the Rat King take anyone's heart either! That included Autor's!

Clutching his injured arm, the young musician turned editor looked away.

"Well... Maybe I do and maybe I don't..." he muttered. He should have known! Of course his mother hadn't been gone for eight years just to come waltzing back into his life with open arms _now!_ She was just the first of many who had turned him away and left him behind on his own!

For a moment, everyone was awkwardly silent... Finally, Odile spoke up.

"You're hurt worse then Fakir, Maestro," she said, kneeling down and putting a hand on Autor's shoulder. "Let me help you or you may need to go to the hospital."

"I have some first aid at home," he declined obstinately.

"That's alright, just hold still and bear with me here." They had already seen her turn into an owl, so no point in hiding her magic any longer...

She took Autor's arm and placed her hand over the worst of the bloody gashes, drawing a mysterious sign or symbol over it with her finger... To everyone's astonishment, not only did his wounds begin to heal, but the rips and tears in his school jacket repaired themselves...

Autor drew his arm away and stared at it in bewilderment. "How... How did you...?" his voice trailed off.

Odile shrugged. "You can call it witchcraft, you can call it magic, you can call it advanced alchemy. Take your pick."

"Well, I guess it shouldn't come as a surprise that the real Odile Von Rothbart would be able to do that," the maestro scoffed. "Though next time you escape from a story and go incognito, you might want to use a better _nom de plume_."

"I'll remember that," the sorceress answered dryly.

Fakir crossed his arms and Ahiru stared at Odile in disbelief and amazement.

"You? You're the real Odile? The black swan from _"Swan Lake"_?" she gasped. How could this be? She wasn't a thing like Rue or Princess Kraehe.

"Yes... well... Guilty," Odile smiled ruefully. "And for the record, the whole "black swan" label was just for the ballet."

"Well, you're not at all like what we imagined," Fakir observed.

"You were expecting some nasty ballerina in a black tutu? Sorry to dissipoint you then."

Autor shook his head. "Maybe we'd better continue this conversation at my house. It's starting to get dark now."

"Right," Odile agreed as she took something out of her skirt pocket. "By the way, I think these are yours, Maestro."

Autor stared down at the glasses she had placed in his hands. "I was wondering where I'd lost these... Thank you... I mean, not just for that... It may not exactly show, but I'm grateful..."

She knew he was thanking her for saving his life...

"Oh, don't thank me. Thank Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart," Odile answered with a small smile and got a sad, halfhearted laugh out of him as she helped him back up to his feet.

* * *

Soon, the foursome were back at Autor's house, where the maestro served them all tea in the living room.

"This is what I was coming to your house to bring you. You left it in the music room," Odile said, handing Autor the music book.

"You didn't have to," he replied reaching to take it, "but thank you anyway."

It was then that some loose pages fell from the book and both Autor and Odile bent down at the same time to pick them up.

"I might have known some of the pages would fall apart," the young music student sighed. That book had been fairly old when his father had gotten it.

Odile held up one of the escaped pages. "Oh, look! I never noticed this before! Antonio Salieri's Concerto for piano C major!"

Fakir, who had been sitting on the opposite couch while Ahiru tended to his scratches and bites with peroxide, tilted his head with interest.

"Salieri? Wasn't he that insanely jealous and mediocre musician who killed Mozart?

Odile laughed and Autor smirked.

"You should stick to ballet, Mister Wonderful Fakir. Salieri wasn't mediocre. He gave music lessons for free and was even one of Beethoven's teachers. He might have been jealous of Mozart, but every historian doubts he had anything to do with his death. They were _colleagues_ as well as rivals."

"Mozart may have been a great genius, but his talent came so easily to him that he had more then enough time on his hands to waste money on parties and other things," Odile added. "He died leaving his family with enormous debts that his wife had to take care of. Salieri may not have been as talented or famous as Mozart, but he was more successful in other ways."

Fakir and Ahiru noticed the meaningful glance she gave Autor as she said this...

The maestro nodded. Though he'd idolized Mozart almost as much as Drosselmeyer, a part of him could relate more to Salieri...

"I have to say, I'm surprised a character who escaped from a fairytale would know so much about composers and music," he commented wryly.

She flushed slightly while taking a sip of her tea.

"Well, I studied music in St Petersburg before I came to Germany. Also, I remember my mother always loved music. She could play the lute, the harp and the flute and sing like an angel."

This surprised everyone. They hadn't known what kind of woman had born Von Rothbart's child.

"That's something that was never mentioned in the fairytale," the former duck noted with interest. She had just barely managed to keep from dropping her tea at that revelation.

Odile shook her head with a sad smile. "No, it wouldn't be, would it? Just like we always prefer the winner's side of history, we prefer the protagonist's side of the fairytale. Anyway, Mother died when I was a child so Father and I were left on our own. After that, he became even more obsessed with strengthening and perfecting his magic. The rest of the story, I'm sure you know. Everyone knew I was Von Rothbart's daughter and a sorceress myself. They knew I was involved in what he had done to the Prince and to Odette. It wasn't safe to stay there any longer."

"I see," Autor replied, getting up to return the music book back to it's rightful place on top of the piano. "Well, your secret is safe with us. Nobody would believe it anyway."

Nobody but those who were aware of Drosselmeyer's control of the town, like himself, the book men, Fakir and Ahiru, Mytho and Rue, remembered how it used to be now that that particular story had ended.

As he spoke, two more things fell from the music book on to the floor, but they weren't sheets of music. They looked like pictures.

Ahiru was the first to pick them up off the floor. "Oh! Where did these come from?"

She studied the two pictures with interest and Fakir and Odile let their curiosity get the better of them and peered over to see for themselves.

The first picture was of a smiling young man and woman on their wedding day. The man had dark hair and blue eyes covered by a pair of glasses. Ahiru's eyes widened and all three of them drew a breath as they recognized the brown haired, brown eyed woman. It had been her very image the Rat King had used to try and lure Autor into giving up his heart.

The next photo was of that very same woman seated at the piano with a small child on her lap. He shared her brown eyes and slight features, which seemed about ready to break into childish laughter. Though the little boy couldn't be more then two or three years old and didn't yet wear glasses, they knew him almost immediately.

"This is your family," the former duck observed.

Eyes narrowing, Autor took the pictures from her. "Yes, brilliant deduction. The frames for those things broke along time ago. I'd forgotten they were even here, or even why I've kept them."

_Those things?_ Fakir frowned. After he had lost his own parents he had taken some objects and pictures from their home to bring to Charon's and had treasured them as all he had left of his mother and father.

"But they're your parents," Ahiru argued. "Why wouldn't you keep their photos?"

The Maestro's glasses caught the light, hiding his eyes and expression as he placed the pictures back in the book, marking Salieri's Concerto for piano C major.

"I told you," he said. "They've both been gone for a long time. I never even met my father... and my mother... she just left without so much as a goodbye note... I really don't know why I let myself be fooled by that apparition back at the church."

_"Because, no matter what you say now, you were hoping she _would_ come back."_ The words came racing to Odile's lips, but she stopped herself from saying them.

Again, Ahiru saw Fakir staring at Autor with that look on his face. A mixture of surprise and recognition.

"I think you had all better go home now," the bookish musician said curtly. "It's getting late and Rue and Mytho are coming tomorrow, remember?"

Fakir and Ahiru looked at each other.. Funny how he usually always mentioned Rue's name before Mytho's...

"Translated, that means he doesn't want to talk about this anymore," Fakir muttered as they all got up to leave and headed out the front hall door.

Odile shook her head. "Would _you?_" she asked, closing the front door behind them. The first stars were beginning to come out and the cool of evening settled on them.

"No," the former knight admitted. The crow attacks and his parents deaths had been common knowledge, but he had never spoken of it himself to anyone...

Soon they arrived at the academy where Odile boarded, and after a goodnight and a promise to meet up again on Monday, it was just Fakir and Ahiru walking back to Charon's for dinner.

"I can't believe so much has happened in one evening," Ahiru said with a shake of her red braid.

"Yeah," Fakir agreed. "Not only do we have a whole new pest control problem because of Drosselmeyer's works, but we've actually met another one of his characters and she's _nothing_ like what we imagined."

"Neither is Autor," the former duck added sadly. "I never would have thought you two would have anything besides Drosselmeyer in common, but you do."

"Almost," the teenaged story spinner answered quietly... He wasn't sure which was worse, having your loved ones taken from you right before your eyes, or having them purposely leave you all on your own...

"I still can't believe Autor's mother would just leave him all alone like that with nobody to look out for him," Ahiru quacked in indignance.

"Me neither," the former knight sighed in agreement. "I remember, I was traumatized when I lost my parents... but at least I always had Charon and Raetzel and Mytho..."

"And _me!_" Ahiru interrupted, taking his hand and giving it a warm, reassuring squeeze.

'Yeah, moron, and you," he smiled...

Funny, Ahiru had always called him 'her strength', yet she was the one who had given _him_ the strength to change for the better... He wasn't exactly sure what he would do after graduating from the academy; Maybe he would inherit Charon's shop after his foster father retired, he might become a dancing instructor, maybe even at the academy, perhaps he would even succeed as a novelist. Whatever he did though, he knew for sure he wanted to keep his promise to always stay by her side...

* * *

_Drosselmeyer shook his head in dissipointment as he watched the images in the gears... The knight and the duck were at home now, having a quiet, peaceful dinner with the blacksmith and little Uzura... The false storyspinner was at his piano, practicing into the night and trying to forget about the events of this evening, unknowing of the black, yellow eyed owl watching from the large tree by the living room window... The seven headed Rat King was in his hidden lair, biding his time until he could get close enough to obtain another human heart..._

_"Very exciting, but still no glorious tragic ending," he sighed as he poured and stirred his tea. His table and chair were placed on a large moving gear. "Oh well, that's the finest thing about suspense in a tale. It makes the inevitable tragedy all the more enjoyable, and there are still more important characters yet to come." _


End file.
